


At the End of the Day

by Barkour



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, Future Fic, Married Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-04
Updated: 2012-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-03 01:20:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barkour/pseuds/Barkour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the kids are finally tucked away in their respective beds, Mommy and Daddy will do their absolute best not to immediately fall asleep in each other's arms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	At the End of the Day

**Author's Note:**

> I figured, given how loud I've been about wanting folks to draw or write me bearded Aang goin' down on Katara, I probably ought to make what contribution I could to such a noble cause.

The canvas strung across the doorway shivered then slid down its pole. Katara marked the page in her book with her finger and looked up to Aang as he bent to fit through the doorway then leaned against it. His narrow shoulders bowed; he pulled his kamik off one by one and left them there at the door. Groaning, he straightened.

She smiled. "Long day?"

"You have no idea." He fell face-first into bed beside her. His feet, bared, stuck off the end of the pallet. He crooked his toes then wiggled them.

"Poor baby." She stroked his head gently, sliding her hand down his long nape, tracing the course of the arrow till it vanished beneath his tunic. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He wriggled onto his side and rubbed his face against her hip. His breath was warm on her thigh, even through the thick sheet, and the rough thickness of his beard scraped. She pressed her finger into the page. Her belly tightened, a little sizzle running up the inside of her thighs.

"Not really," Aang said. "There's not a whole lot to tell, anyway." He nuzzled her hip again, his nose tracing the bone. She'd fat left over from the pregnancy, enough to bury the bone; still, he found it.

Her breath caught. Aang's hands settled on her knees where they rose beneath the sheet. His thumbs dug into the sides of her knees, massaging the shape of each joint; his fingers drifted down her calves then up again.

"Did the babies give you any trouble?"

"Nope," he said happily to her hip. His hands had migrated north. "They were both tired out after all the excitement. We had a long day."

Katara reached for him. Aang turned his face to her fingertips, her palm as it settled on his cheek. His eyes were closed, his stubby eyelashes black on his pale skin. The thick, coarse hair of his beard tickled her fingers. She traced the shape of his ear.

"I'm sorry I missed it. You did have fun, didn't you?"

"The festival was great," he said. He kissed her wrist, his lips soft against her pulse. "You would've really liked it. They had a couple waterbenders from the northern tribe who did this tandem water dance that was very--" The tip of his tongue flashed. Katara's thumb bit into his cheek. He was smiling.

"Very what?"

"Interesting," he said.

Katara arched her eyebrows; her eyes lidded. "Interesting how?"

"Interesting," he said to the fleshy pad of her thumb, "in that I thought maybe we could ask Sokka and Suki to watch the babies sometime this week. Go out dancing."

"We don't really have to go out for that," said Katara. Her fingers trickled behind his ear. The tips slithered down his neck. Aang slid his hands higher on her thighs, his palms warm through the sheet, so hot on her skin.

"All those people watching us," she said.

Aang kissed her thick hip slowly, softly. His lips parted; his teeth scraped so gently over the swell of it. His thumbs were working at her thighs, sliding higher, higher still.

"Maybe we could stay in instead," he murmured. "Just you and me."

"I don't have any students scheduled for Xīngqīsì," she said.

His hands settled just at the very top of her thighs, so light but warm, too. 

"We could stay in," he suggested.

"Oh," she said, "but there's so much we really should do. All those responsibilities. All those duties." 

She said it to tease him, to draw out that mischief in Aang, that little tricky thing inside him that made him want to show off, to dance when he was supposed to be still, to laugh when he was supposed to be solemn. He grinned up at her from her lap, his eyes lidded, the turn of his mouth knowing.

"But Katara," he said sweetly, "we really shouldn't forget our marital responsibilities. Our duties," he continued as he bent to nuzzle her lap, "to the connubial bed. It's my job to bring balance to our marriage."

"I thought you were supposed to bring balance to the world," she said archly, even as she cradled his head, held him to her. His mouth was so very near to her, his breath a hot thing trembling against her. The sheet remained between them. Aang mouthed her through it, his lower lip pouting as he dragged his nose, his mouth up, breath so warm.

"It's the same thing," he said. He said it casually, as if it were nothing not known, and that little crackling thing that had knotted in her gut spilled out.

"Aang," she said.

He looked up at her through those stubby lashes of his. His eyes were grey, always that strange, dark grey, so unlike any other eyes she'd ever seen. His brow was soft. He was smiling again, smiling so sweetly with his eyelids slung low and the corners of his mouth sharp. She remembered the first time they'd danced, how he'd smiled at her just like that, and some shivery, excited thing had tightened then spilled out in her chest. She hadn't known what it meant then. She hadn't known what she'd wanted. All she'd known of sex was what Gran-gran had told her, and that had been little and confusing, too little to know how to recognize that first swell of desire inside her.

She knew it now, knew that when Aang's hands were light on her thighs and his breath on her, the memory of his beard and how it felt rasping up her thighs itching in her skin, and her belly trembled, she wanted his mouth and his hands and his beard and his body. She wanted Aang. She could have him, now.

"It's just you and me," he said lowly.

Katara stroked the line of his tattoo where it dove beneath his tunic. She knew without looking at it how it would go, coursing straight down his spine but for that knot of scar tissue now faded to a soft pink, down to the small of his back where it divided and each line then turned to wrap around his thighs and down then to his long and bony feet. Katara slid her hand down his jaw, dragging her palm over his beard. Her thumb brushed his lower lip. Aang smiled again, even more slowly.

"You're not too tired, are you?" She let her thumb settle on his lip. "You had such a busy day. I'd hate for you to miss out on sleep."

"Oh," he said teasingly, "you wouldn't turn your back on someone who needs you, would you?"

Katara wriggled under the sheets, under his fingers working at her thighs. She spread her legs, just so. "And what could the Avatar need from me?"

"I'm real thirsty," he told her. "I tried some water and I had some lychee juice, too, but it just wasn't what I was looking for."

"Oh, _no_ ," said Katara. "That's just terrible. Did you want me to make you some tea?"

"No," he said thoughtfully. "I think what I'm looking for is right here."

He picked at the sheets, drawing them down her thighs. Katara forsook the page in her book and set it aside on the low table beside their pallet. Aang was hooking his fingers beneath the waistline of the short trousers she'd taken to wearing at night; he slid them slowly down her thighs. Katara arched her hips, just so. Her thighs were thicker now, still heavy there, too, but Aang stopped only to kiss each inch exposed, lips so soft on her thighs, soft and wet, too, where they turned out.

They were lazy, the both of them. The candle set on the table flickered. The room was shadowed, and in those shadows and the dim light the candle cast, Aang's shoulders were stark, corded with muscle and pocked with shadows in each small hollow. His hand slid along the underside of one bared thigh. He turned to kiss it, and his beard rasped along the soft skin there, rasped so Katara shivered and made to trace his ear again. Aang rubbed his face against her, scratching her thighs with the rough, black hair of his beard so that Katara lifted her leg and cast it over his shoulder, her foot turned to settle against his flexing shoulder blade.

Aang pursed his lips and blew a raspberry against her upper thigh.

"Aang!" Katara laughed and thumped her heel against his back.

He was grinning against her thigh. His fingers slithered up her thighs, higher, higher. His thumbs parted the black curls thick between her legs and then the folds, too. She felt her own wetness exposed, the heat between her legs given up to the cooler air.

Aang said, "I'm just an incurable prankster," and then he licked a long, slick stroke right up between her parted folds. The tip of his tongue flicked into the little, wet opening, then he ran his tongue up again to her clit. Another twist of his tongue.

Katara ran her fingers behind his ear. "Aang, please."

His beard scratched her thighs. He turned his head, just so, and the rasp of that coarse hair on the soft inside of her plump thigh made her arch and sling her other leg over his shoulders. Aang murmured, "I love you," then his tongue encircled her clit. His teeth worried it, rolling the nub between them. The delicate press of his teeth, the flicking of his tongue, how he pulled at it so that a little frisson of heat made her tighten even as the rough scraping of his beard made her arch her hips, press closer to his mouth.

A finger slid up between her folds. He pressed just the tip to her opening, then, with deliberate slowness, he slipped the tip of his finger in, then the first knuckle. The press of his finger inside her, the bend to it as he lazily slid in up to the second knuckle: she said, "Aang, _please_ ," and ground down his finger. He nipped at her clit, suckling it between his teeth. His finger crooked inside her.

"You're the most amazing person I've ever known," he said, his tongue spreading over her nub. "Sifu Katara. Katara. You're so strong. So beautiful. I want to love you."

He worshipped her with his mouth, with his teeth and tongue and breath shivering so hotly across her slicked folds. He ran his tongue down between the folds, licking them, tasting them with long roils of his tongue. In her, his finger twisted and turned; he pressed another finger into her, curling and uncurling them in waves, one by one, so that the heat in her belly swelled, so that she tightened about his fingers, his callused fingers, so long as he drew the heat from her belly to her thighs, the heat from her thighs to her opening.

"You are," she said, and she said: "Aang. Aang, Aang, _oh_. Please."

His tongue was so sure when he pressed it inside her, too, curling up as he crooked his fingers. Oh, the harsh scratching of his beard against her thighs, the burn of it as he turned his face and his lips, soft and wet and mouthy, closed about her. His fingers split, parting her; he gave his tongue to her, licking out the wetness that spilled out of her now. The hand still rested at her thigh moved higher; his palm skated over her plump belly; his fingers brushed the underside of her breast beneath her tunic; his thumb swept her nipple, rubbing it. Aang hummed against her and, curling his tongue, slid it out. There was a slickness in his beard, a wetness of his mouth. He smiled again, teasingly, and licked his shining lip.

Katara cradled his ears in her hands, her fingers coiled around his nape, and said, "Oh, Aang. Don't stop now."

He kissed her clitoris, lips parted, so soft. His tongue flicked it. "And what if I did stop?"

"Would you really?"

He sighed and drew her clit between his teeth. Another lick, worrying that nub as he rolled it in his tongue. 

"No."

"Good." She arched her hips, relishing the slide of his fingers inside her, how he crooked them and then parted them again, spreading her. "I'd really hate to make you sleep outside in the snow."

Aang chuckled and she shivered. His beard scratched at her thighs, scratched so her skin itched and she wanted to lock her legs together behind his head.

"Oh," he murmured, "you'd never make me sleep in the snow. You're too nice. You'd start to think about me shivering out there, all alone, and you in here in bed, all alone, too, and both the babies fast asleep..."

"I'm seriously considering it," she said, "if you don't keep going."

Aang laughed again. "I love you," he said. "Katara. Katara." His voice dropped to a murmur. He nuzzled her folds, his nose warm, his beard scraping as he moved higher. Heat and her own wetness pooled between her legs, slicked his fingers where they twisted inside her. He pressed another finger in and licked up the length of it as he slid it in. The tip of his tongue teased at her entrance, and then he dragged it up between her folds with aching slowness, as if he were savoring the taste of her. Pulling her swollen clitoris into his mouth again he sucked at it, nipped at it, worried it with teeth and tongue and his pursed lips.

Katara looked down to his shaved head, to the blue ink still so bright against his pale skin. His sideburns were black, so dark against his skin. The insides of her thighs would be sore later, the skin chafed by the rubbing of his beard against it. Each step she took, every minute of each listen, the thick cloth of her trousers would scrape against her thighs, and however brief the moment, she'd think of Aang bent between her legs, his beard scraping her skin, his tongue pulling at her clit, his fingers driving deeper into her and stroking, pulling at the heat in her gut so it burned down her thighs.

She was wet beneath Aang's mouth, wet and sticky and hot, so hot. He bit at her clitoris, teasing it, and the hand at her breast cupped it, squeezed it; his thumb brushed her nipple, brushed it again so it tightened. A fuzzy, warm pleasure ran up her spine. She wriggled helplessly under Aang and felt his pleased smile as he licked another thick stripe up her folds.

"Aang," she said, "again. Again. Please."

The hand at her breast slid low. He cupped her backside, lifted her up from the sheets so that he might dive into her in earnest. Each time he worried her clit, dragged it between his teeth and there pinned, flicked his tongue over it, lavished it even as he nipped it again and again. His fingers twisted inside her, pulling at that heat so that her hips arched even without the guiding pressure of his hand at the small of her back. She spread her legs wide and pushed up into his mouth, his hand. Her heels bit into his back. Her toes curled.

"I love you," Aang was whispering to her. He licked her clit again, pulled at it with his teeth again. "I love you. When I first saw you, I loved you."

"Aang," she said, "Aang," his name like a prayer, his fingers so hard and twisting inside her a divine act. There was a horrible pressure inside her, between her legs where his nails scraped so gently and his fingers crooked and spread and twisted within her.

"In the cave of two lovers," he said, "when you said we should kiss--"

In that dark place, so deep within the mountain, their only light that one flickering, dying candle, she had looked at Aang, looked at his round face, his thin mouth, and thought--

"I wanted to kiss you," she said. "I--" His tongue was so strong, so very hot as it twined around her clitoris and sucked. Another little frisson of pleasure slithered into her belly. She tightened around his fingers and wanted more, more.

"Katara," he said. "Katara." His fingers drove into her; he curled them, twisted them again and again as he worked her.

She pushed her hips into his hand. His shoulders bowed between her. The edges of his beard showed, so very dark. Each scrape of that coarse hair on her thighs was another hot drop of want in her belly, already so heavy with want of him. His tunic dipped between his shoulders. She wanted to have him spread out beneath her, his face in the pillow, his skin all bared. She wanted to lick each of his tattoos, trace each arrow with her teeth. Wanted him moaning beneath her as he ached, hard for her, waiting for her to turn him over and bend to take him into her mouth. Katara licked her mouth. Her teeth were dry, but her mouth was wet, her tongue so thick with want.

Aang gave up his tongue to her, his fingers, and Katara, spilling over, so thick and slick and heavy with want of him, with the clever knotting of his tongue as he licked and sucked at and worshipped the little hard nub of her clitoris, with those long and clever fingers working within her, stroking pleasure out of her every ridge, every fold, every hot place made so slick for him, Katara arched beneath him. The tunic she'd worn to breast scratched at her breasts; she was so sensitive now, constantly, her breasts heavy with milk for the babies and her nipples sore. But it was pleasure that filled her gut, pleasure that made her shoulders bend back and her chest swell and her back arch, pressing her crotch to his mouth and his hand, to the delicious, painful scraping of his beard against her thighs. She stroked his ears, fingernails skating those shells, and held him close to her, so close all she knew was the heat building and pooling inside her and the shape of his tongue, the bend of each knuckle as he curled his fingers within her until at last Katara said, "Aang! Aang, oh, please, just--" and he bit hard at her clitoris, licked it once very delicately, and crooked his fingers together. The pressure building so hotly inside her popped, and Katara arched again, moaning, clutching his ears, holding him to her. Her gut trembled; her legs trembled. That sweet heat rolled through her again, again. Aang kissed her clitoris softly, then the slick juncture of his fingers and her opening. His hand was wet with her.

"I love you," she said softly, "Aang. Oh, Aang."

He kissed her thigh and slid his fingers free one by one, gently. Katara said, "Aang--"

He leaned up and kissed her lips, his mouth slick with the taste of her, his beard slick, too. Katara licked at his teeth and pressed her hips against him, against the heat of his erection. "Katara," he murmured into her mouth, "Katara. Katara." Each iteration of her name was a benediction. Her name, a prayer on his lips where the taste of her lingered. "Katara. I missed you."

She fumbled for the laces of his trousers. Aang kissed her jaw, the corner of it, her throat. Each kiss was sloppy, wet, mouth open, his tongue rolling up her skin. Another benediction. She freed his cock, trailed her fingers down the hard length of it then held him and guided him. Her legs parted; she arched again to him. When Aang sank into her, she flung her legs around his lean, hard hips to pull him in deeper. He sighed her name again. The thickness of him sparked another little heat inside her, and she tightened around him. His hips jerked. Slowly, he withdrew and then pressed into her again, one very deliberate roll of his hips.

They were tired, the both of them. Katara had spent most of the day with her students, first in group sessions, then one on one throughout the afternoon. Aang had watched the babies. Each roll of his hips, each slow slide of his thick cock into her, was languid. Katara spread her legs and arched into him, taking him in deeper as he pushed down into her again. The fullness of the stroke, the easy glide, stoked a different heat inside her. She rubbed his shoulders through his tunic, felt the lean muscles there, how they shivered with each slow roll of his hips, each lazy drive of his cock into her. She rolled her own hips, meeting him, taking him into her. The closeness of him warmed her. His lips were soft on her jaw, his beard rough.

"I like your beard," she whispered. His ear was near to her mouth. She kissed the lobe then bit it, flicking it with her tongue. "I like--" --how it rasped across her skin, how she would still feel it on her thighs in the morning, a raw reminder of Aang licking into her. But Aang had caught her backside in his hands and adjusted her hips, tipping them; when he drove into her, then, he did so in such a way that her breath stuck in her throat and she convulsed around him.

"I love you," he said lowly. "I love you. Katara--"

"Aang, please," she said, "please, I need you to--"

Another long, deep stroke. She dug her fingers into his back. Aang shivered and his cock was so thick; he pushed deeper still. She kissed him again, bit his lip and pulled it back. Aang made a soft noise, a little sweet, heartbroken noise. The taste of her lingered in his mouth. She licked it from his tongue, from his teeth. His hand stole down between them, and his thumbnail caught on her clitoris; he dug at it. Pleasure shivered through her, greater now than before. She was full of him, so very full, but Aang was filled with Katara; she heard it in his voice, how he moaned her name again and again.

Katara rose. She pushed at his shoulders, pushed him till he gave to her, till he was spread out beneath her across the furs and the sheets. His tunic gaped over his collar, showing his clavicle to her. Katara rested her hand on his breast. Her fingers spread wide, her thumb digging into the center of his chest. On his back, in that spot, the scar remained. Katara stroked that spot with her thumb as she rolled her hips to meet him.

Very softly she said, "Aang."

He reached for her. His fingers pulled at her hair, carded through it. He smiled so sweetly at her.

"I love you," he said. He stroked her cheek with his thumb. "Baby, you're my forever girl."

She touched her fingers to his chin. She loved his beard, she did. She loved the rasp of it, how it felt on her thighs, her face, the space between her shoulder blades when he kissed it in the morning. Tomorrow morning, he'd do the same thing again.

She rolled her hips again, and Aang sighed. His throat arched. A muscle trembled within it. It was nice, she thought, to make love so simply, so easily. When he pressed into her, he did so slowly, gently. She ran her hands over his shoulders, his lean biceps.

Katara bent and kissed him softly on the mouth. Aang's lashes swept low. He smiled. Katara smiled, too, smiled with love so thick in her breast she could hardly breathe for it.

"I love you," she said.

Aang touched her cheek again, the fleshy pads of his fingers at her jaw.

"I love you, too," he said. "When I first saw you. You were the best thing I'd ever seen."

"Aang," she said. "Aang."

He wrapped his arms about her and drew her near, and Katara wound her arms about his neck. She went to him. She always went to him. She loved him, and she loved the warmth of him, the sweetness of each slow roll of his hips, the lingering taste of herself in his mouth.

"Do you think Sokka might watch the babies tomorrow?" she whispered.

Aang laughed into her mouth, laughed and pressed up into her so she made a little sound in her throat. "What about your students? That's not like you, Katara. Shirking your responsibilities."

She pinched his nose and Aang laughed again, his throat bending, his teeth flashing and his eyes crinkling. He palmed her backside, his strong, thin hands caressing each buttocks with small and delicate flexes of each long finger. Katara pushed down against him, taking his cock deeper into her. Her hair spilled over her shoulder; it pooled beside his head, in his throat. He smiled at her and tipped his head, buried his nose in that cascade of dark brown hair.

"I missed you, too," she said, so softly she thought he might not hear.

But his smile deepened; delighted, he pushed his face into her hair. His hands slipped up to the small of her back, up her spine to cup her shoulder blades as they worked. Their hips met, parted, came together again. They made love so rarely now, since the babies came. She'd missed him.

Katara bent and kissed the corner of his jaw, obscured by the thick, scratchy hair of his beard. Aang smiled again.

"I'm glad I grew that out."

She nuzzled his jaw. "I like it." Her hips snapped, quicker now.

"Yeah," he said, his breath catching, "I can tell."

His left hand trailed down to the back of her thigh, squeezed the muscle there, the fat over it. His fingertips brushed the inside of her thigh, over the little raw spot he'd left when he dragged his beard across her skin. Katara gasped and buried her face in his throat. He pushed deeper into her, deep again as she pressed down to take him in. Aang brought his hand around the front of her thigh then up, up. His thumb pressed against her clitoris, still swollen.

Katara bit his ear. Aang made a startled sound and arched suddenly, pushing up into her so she gasped again and then laughed, breathlessly in his ear.

"Don't do that," he said, his breath coming shortly. Sweat was slick along his brow, along his throat.

"I thought you liked it," she said. She tongued his earlobe, flicked it between her teeth as his thumb circled her clitoris then pressed into it again.

"I do," he said. "I really like it. I like it so much, I--"

She bit the shell of his ear and Aang said, "Oh, _fuck!_ "

She started laughing again, huffing into his jaw, and after a grunt, his hips snapping up hard against her, Aang chuckled; his chuckle deepened and roughened, and he turned his face to her hair as he laughed. His shoulders shook under her. Katara pushed them flat against the bed. The muscles in his shoulders quivered; his chest arched. She ground her hips down against his hips and tightened, squeezing around him so the laugh caught in his throat and gave way for a sigh.

His fingers caressed her, thumbnail scraping down her clitoris then up again, flicking it then rolling it between his fingers so Katara arched above him. A warm and slithering urgency drove her harder against him, and Aang, breathing out so hoarsely, arched up to meet her. Sweetness gave way to something hotter, harder. His other hand cupped her shoulder, then her nape. Aang ground his hips up against hers--payback--and he rose to lick at her throat. His teeth closed so very gently on the line of the tendon that ran down to meet her shoulder. Katara said, "Oh!" and pressed down, down, into his hand, onto his cock. He nuzzled her neck, her jaw, kissed the corner of her jaw and the curve of her cheekbone and the side of her nose as she gasped and gasped and pressed down again.

That tight heat popped again. Aang said, "Katara. Katara--" and she heard her name as he meant it, as "I love you. I love you." Aang's arm tightened around her shoulders. He pressed his face to her neck, his lips parted and soft on her throat, and he came like that, wrapped around her. Katara slung her arms around his shoulders and sank down with him into their bed.

Kisses in the aftermath, soft and warm and so like honey, rare there in the south. He mouthed her jaw, and Katara kissed his ear where she'd bit it. Aang's hands smoothed down her back. She traced the edges of the scar on his back then slid her palm across it.

"I love you," he said to the soft underside of her chin. "Katara. Katara. I love you."

"Aang," she said. Love made his name so sweet in her mouth. His name was always sweet there. "Aang."

She held him dearly, and Aang's eyelashes brushed her jaw. His beard scratched her throat. She'd missed this closeness, the warmth of his body, the lean breadth of his shoulders flexing as he tightened his arms around her back.

He kissed the skin soft beneath her ear. "Let's ask Sokka if he can watch the babies tomorrow."

Katara threw her head back and laughed again, laughed as Aang, grinning slyly, said, "What? What did I say?" and rolled her over so that her hair spilled out across their bed and he might kiss her again in earnest, his mouth so warm and gentle on hers even as she hooked her fingers behind his neck and pulled him down, down, down to her and laughed into his kiss, laughed and laughed till Aang, grinning, laughed, too.


End file.
